


To exist is to defy

by Demondogweed



Category: The Dark Crystal (1982), The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: Colonialism, Drabble, Thinkpiece, finding ones place, unity critical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25499086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demondogweed/pseuds/Demondogweed
Summary: SkekEkt thinks on his place on Thra and what was before.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	To exist is to defy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ryanglitter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryanglitter/gifts), [Chaifootsteps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaifootsteps/gifts).



He never did belong there, among the spires and the skies. Among the mass of glowing gold bodies and the ever-present hum of a Crystal with no cracks.

Others would speak of being God-Kings of these winged creatures, of recreating their vision of the world on this strange planet. Of making it better, a utopia.

But despite their grand speeches or songs or writings, there was an underlying thread there. They were only stifled by the exile, not the world itself.

EktUtt, no. SkekEkt couldn't agree.

Long before there were murmurs of an exile, long before he ever met Aughra or any of the thousands of gelfling and podling he knew, he did not belong.

He was an artist in a world that had no art, that -needed- no art nor beauty. Only the barest designs decided by priests whose wills were beyond their common kin.

(It was a relief to see skekZok fumble a religion from nothing but the suns and the Crystal.)

Where others had their skills praised, had themselves lifted to greatness, skekEkt remembered only rejection after rejection.

Too bright, not the right symbols, what is this pattern? The list went on and on for a literal infinity. He bit his tongue, he played along and sacrificed his integrity for acceptance. But it only made him an average tailor, one among many.

Exile, for the now-dead urskek, was a gift and not a curse. The gelfling listened and understood him, they too wanted beauty in their world.

But just like before, the 'greater' minds of the Twice-Nine sought more. They wanted to return, though they had left their mark on Thra. They wanted to be forgiven and to bleach the darkness from their hearts, yet they kept on gifting gelfling their knowledge and mindsets. SkekEkt had followed but had looked back each step of the way.

Was it any wonder that they failed? 

As a skeksis, everything fell into place. No more star-charts to replicate, no more stodgy and ancient rules to follow for their own sake. What the Ornamentalist made was his own creation and his own will, of and for Thra. Why should he show restraint when the whole concept had only proven itself to be flawed?

Best of all, there were others like him. SkekMal disappeared into the woods of Thra and you only saw him when he chose to appear. SkekAyuk had been similarly stifled, told what he craved was wrong.

Even his urru, the one who had ambled itself to Thra-knows-where, was not exactly stifling his own creativity. Who else had made their weird saddle-things, or their tail covers?

To skekEkt, others could look into the stars and wish for unity, or conquest or harmony all they wanted.

All -he- needed was a needle, thread and eyes to see his work.


End file.
